It suddenly became so inorganic; lifeless. The way you crossed the river without struggling through the current made you seem so out of touch. I watched you deviate from the singularity of your commitments, and it ended so vaguely, that no one knows if it ever had a resolution. But I only tell you the way I witnessed it.

Many years passed before I could understand what you said. The hours collapsed as I feared they would. I theorized about your permanence in my thoughts, but I already knew you were out of my life, I just hadn’t come to accept the terms of this argument. I believed in lies when I spoke through them. Needless to say, I knew about this charade. So what happens next?

What happens is your breathing. Slowly inhaling your arrest. Your virtue is not the art of deceiving, but your ability to sing in the key of misanthropy.